Remade
by Rebellwithoutacause
Summary: "Do you know what its like to be unmade?" "You know that I do." Natasha knows more than most what its like to know exactly who you are only to have it yanked away. Clint made a different call on his mission to kill her, and now she has been unmade. But he hasn't left her to drown. He will help remake her even if she doesn't make it easy on him. One-shot.


_**Well hello again! It's been a long time but to get right down to it, I've seen the Avengers in theaters so many times my wallet is scraped bare. I absolutely adore Clint and Natasha and so I had to write something for them. This started out as an answer to the "You and I remember Budapest very differently..." line but it morphed and changed into what it is now. I guess it still is the answer but you can interpret it however you wish. I hope you enjoy and please leave me a review! Oh, and if anybody wants to know the lyrics are to the song Wonder by Megan McCauley. **  
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_**Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers or any of its characters, and I don't own the lyrics to the song which helped to inspire this story. **_

_Midnight workings weather down the story line_

_Try to find the truth between all the lies_

_When bleeding is feeling and feeling ain't real_

_Will I see you when I open my eyes?_

_Will I see you when I open my eyes?_

_When breathing's a burden we all have to bear_

_And trust is one thing we're taught never to share_

_Somehow you just seem to shine_

_When loving means breaking and saying goodbye_

_And I can't help but wonder_

_What it is you do_

_When you help heal the pain_

_And the thoughts of the truth_

_You're a question to the universe_

_A wonder to the world_

_And somehow when I'm with you_

_I never get burned_

_Caught in the trap of what we're taught to believe_

_When night overcomes day life's so hard to perceive_

_And the clock keeps on ticking through night shattered skies_

_When stars are all broken and so are the ties_

_But the one thing remaining is you_

_When I'm broken and bleeding you pull me right through_

_And I can't help but wonder_

_What it is you do_

_When you help heal the pain_

_And the thoughts of the truth_

_You're a question to the universe_

_A wonder to the world_

_And somehow when I'm with you_

_There's nothing I'd rather do_

_Than be right there_

_To escape my whole life and all my fears_

_And I can't feel_

_Am I really real?_

_Come and wipe all of my tears_

_Come and wipe all of my tears_

_And I can't help but wonder_

_What it is you do_

_When you help heal the pain_

_And the thoughts of the truth_

_You're a question to the universe_

_A wonder to the world_

_And somehow when I'm with you_

_I can't help but wonder_

_What it is you do_

_When you help heal the pain_

_And the thoughts of the truth_

_You're a question to the universe_

_A wonder to the world_

_And somehow when I'm with you_

_I never get burned _

"Do you know what its like to be unmade?"

"You know that I do."

That was the last intimate thing she had said to him, before they had nearly been killed trying to save the world. The world that neither of them were really apart of. They were not apart of the system, they were beyond it, but yet they could move in and out of its fibers with seamless ease. Or so they would have everyone believe.

Natasha knew all about what it was like to be unmade. You're born with a certain core part of yourself, its formed as a child, and you hang onto it all of your life. Many things change, but there are always certain deep rooted bits you hang onto until you die. Except for people like her and Clint. She'd been unmade when she'd become an assassin training, every single day the relentless drills and shouting, deprived of sustenance, beaten into submission, trained to lash back with ruthless efficiency, her brain a piece of meat on a chain being yanked this way and that way until finally she was left with nothing but killer instincts and a one track mind of desire to complete the mission.

Until she'd met him. She'd known him as Hawkeye back then. He'd been on her tail for weeks, very nearly catching her as she led him on a wild chase all across Europe until finally he'd cornered her in Budapest. Her heart had pounded wildly when she saw the arrow trained directly on her from a rooftop. They were in public no less, but the sun was going down and she knew that she was caught, like a rat trapped by a cat. Most of her screamed to do something, anything, to try and escape, to change her fate. But a very small part of her whispered that now it could be over. That maybe in that arrow was the key to her freedom and she shouldn't try to run.

Her instincts won out, but it wouldn't have been enough, and she'd known it, even then. She'd taken off running as fast as she could, throwing herself under cover, knocking people over heedlessly as she bolted, but she knew deep in her heart that if he had wanted to take that shot he could have. But there she was, still alive, still running.

She roamed the city for two days, going deep underground during the day, moving constantly at night, hoping that she wasn't being followed. Finally on the third night she deemed it safe enough to return to her hotel room. She was going just to collect her gear and get the hell out of dodge. She didn't know why Hawkeye hadn't shot but it didn't matter. She had to disappear; she was good at that, and as soon as she was inside the room, she'd blown about like a hurricane, snatching everything from where she'd laid it out and throwing it into a duffle bag. She was moving so fast and in such a frenzy she didn't realize something in the room was wrong. And by the time she did, there was a flicker of motion and a soundless whisper of a bow string being pulled back.

"Leave the gun." his voice was smoother than she expected. Different.

The gun she had been reaching for was on the couch. Her steel trap brain had already realized that by the time she bent down, grabbed the gun, turned, and pulled the trigger, he would have loosed the arrow and she'd be dead.

"Why are you here?" she asked. She might as well. If he was going to kill her, he'd had his chance already. How long had he been waiting in this room? He was an assassin as was she, but his game was different. He was a sniper. She knew that he could have been waiting for her ever since he'd let her get away three days ago.

"Because I want to be." he answered, not moving, remaining completely encased in darkness. She hadn't bothered turning on any lights when she'd come in, and so the whole room was cloaked in deep shadow except for moon and street light mixed together spilling on the floor from the window. But he was pressed against the corner, entirely hidden.

"Are you here to kill me, Hawkeye? Because you're doing a poor job." she managed to say. Every instinct told her to grab the gun and shoot but she remained where she was, standing, eyes straining to see into his dark corner.

"Clint." he said, even quieter than before. Her heart jolted with a peculiar sensation. He had told her his name. Somehow she knew that he wasn't giving her an alias, it was his real name. In some ways it was more intimate than looking in his eyes. Knowledge was lethal in their business, and they both knew it.

"No last name?" she asked softly. She didn't know why. She was walking blind and no training was going to help her, not right now. Not with an arrow locked on her for a kill shot and him standing so close.

"Barton." he murmured. She could feel him shift in the shadow but she knew he hadn't lowered the arrow. It was strange, his choice of weapon, but it was also unique and for that she admired him.

"Why are you doing this?" Beneath the slight admiration and fear from her pounding heart there was a terrible sensation of pain. Was he cruel? Was he taunting his power over her? It didn't sound like it, but she had met people like that before, the ones that liked to toy with their prey before they kill it.

There was silence from the shadows and she was transported back to that time, that terrible time, when she was a child sobbing in the dark, waiting for her handlers to come for her again, to hurt her, to tear at the fabric of who she was and change her. To make her something she wasn't but would ultimately become, just to survive.

"Does it matter?" he asked her. "You're still alive. I'd figure you'd be grateful."

She stiffened and now more than ever before she wanted to feel the cold, steely comfort of the gun in her hand. There was a part of her that wanted to kill him purely for what he was doing to her now, stabbing at her defenses and yet holding all the power over her head as though she were a helpless child again.

Because there was a part of her that was grateful, but there was a part of her that hated him for what he was doing to her.

"It doesn't matter much if I turn my back and you shoot me." She managed to say, a stiff edge of anger in her voice now, like the cold steel of a knife blade.

The shadows twitched again. He emerged from the darkness and her breath caught. The tip of his arrow, still notched in the bow with the string pulled back, was hovering just over her heart which was slamming so hard she thought it would burst free from her chest.

And then an extraordinary thing happened. He pulled back just slightly and slowly released the tension on the bow string, removing the arrow and stowing it in his quiver. Her eyes latched onto every single detail, amazed at what was happening, and too in shock to react. The ripple of muscle in his forearms as he folded the bow down and stowed it in its holder next to the quiver, the icy strength in his blue eyes, the twitch of his neck and jaw and the speed that was enough to match her own as he removed the gun from her reach and switched the safety on, flinging it into the bedroom where it clattered to the floor.

"I don't shoot people in the back." He murmured quietly.

"Oh you are an assassin with honor are you?" she growled. It was a more level playing field now that his weapon was sheathed. She'd been trained to the nines in hand to hand combat, and was reasonably sure that if she had to, she could kill him now.

"You don't have to interpret what I say, Natasha." His voice was softer now, almost soothing. But she could not forget what he was, a killer, just like her.

"Either kill me or get the hell out of my room." She snarled. She couldn't take it anymore. Whatever game he was playing she didn't want anything else to do with it. She hated him for what he had done to her. Not the fear exactly, she could handle fear, completely unseen underneath the steely mask of her years of training. What she couldn't handle was the way he brought up those terrible memories of her childhood.

Of being unmade.

At first he was still, gazing at her with eyes that were not as hard as she had previously thought. There was something beneath them, something foreign that she could not exactly see or put her finger on. Very quickly though, it didn't matter.

He lunged for her. If she had been trained as anything but the best it would have been over in two seconds. But she was the best and as such, she was able to evade his quick grab. She struck at him, going straight for the face, her knuckles meeting the bridge of his nose so hard she heard the bone snap. His head flung back and she was already going for a knee shot to disable him and keep him from coming after her but he was expecting it. He blocked her shot and struck her hard in the side, flinging her away, but that was all she needed.

Now that she had room to maneuver, she leapt back onto the window sill as he struck for her again. She cleared the jump clean over his head, snatched the duffle bag that was still on the couch and bolted out of the room, tearing through the hallway as fast as her feet could go. She could hear the thunder of his pursuit behind her like a relentless drum beat and her lungs screamed with the tearing force of trying to get enough air to fuel the muscles in her legs.

She bowled at least ten people over in the lobby of the hotel as she streaked through, a burning flame of desperation to escape. He was still after her, even as she dodged through the still busy traffic of Budapest's streets. She ran down an ally and flung herself over the fence, heading for another street. She was partially weighed down by the heft of the duffle bag and he was gaining on her. She swung very hard and ran straight through traffic, leaping onto the hoods of cars, horns honking and headlights blazing.

She took a flight of stairs that led beneath the streets where people would be getting on and off the trains. She flung herself into the crowd, slowing down to hopefully give him the slip as she ducked lower, trying to hide her easily recognizable crimson hair, still maneuvering as fast as she could without leaving a wake behind her.

The trick appeared to have worked. She made it to a bathroom where she was able to ditch the gear she'd been carrying (it would be easier to buy more than carry this with her) and took only what was necessary, a silver plated nine millimeter handgun. This, two clips of ammo, and a leather jacket that would conceal the weapon once she was sure she had lost Barton in the chase. She kicked the duffle underneath the sink and then left the bathroom, heading for the trains.

Fear slammed into her chest. There he was, waiting for her at the end of the terminal where people were boarding. She panicked and took flight again, heading back for the stairs and into the street; down here she'd be a rat trapped in a cage. She flung herself up the concrete steps and lengthened her stride as far as it would go, booted feet slamming into the ground and even over the roar of traffic and nightlife of the city, she could hear his pursuit.

He was still after her when she'd made it to a quieter side street. At this rate she was never going to lose him on foot, she'd have to steel a set of wheels to shake him. She was looking for a suitable car when an arrow went whizzing past her, almost grazing her arm. She shrieked with surprise and lost her footing, tripping on the cobblestone streets. She went skidding hard but her hand was already inside the pocket of the leather jacket, pulling out the gun and cocking the hammer back. She loosed three shots, forcing Barton to take cover while she scrambled up to her feet and kept running.

The side street eventually merged back into a busier main road. Her lungs burned and her body cried out for rest but she ignored it. She sank deep into her training and kept running. She gathered her legs in a leap and landed on the hood of a taxi cab that was speeding past her. The car hit the breaks hard, tires squealing and smoking, flinging her free. She rolled onto the pavement, scraping skin and leaving blood on the ground but it didn't matter. She actually had to swerve; Barton somehow had landed right next to her and he'd been just inches from grabbing her arm.

She took off again and this time she saw her target. A city bus that was just about to pull away from its stop. She ran flat out for everything that she was worth and leapt, clinging to the metal box, her feet scrabbling at the back bumper as she struggled to get a better grip as the bus picked up speed. She tried to steady herself and get her breath back while the bus kept moving. She looked back, searching for any sign of Barton but could see none. Maybe he'd decided to give up the chase before it got any messier.

The bus suddenly slammed to a halt, screeching and Natasha saw with horror as the two back tires near her feet had been blown out, black arrows embedded in the rubber. She glanced wildly, searching for Barton and saw him coming straight towards her from the end of the block.

This time she ran straight at him, loosing her gun and popping off another shot. Because of the speed at which she was running her aim slipped and the bullet pinged off a metal lamp post but it still forced Barton to dodge and gave her the clearance she needed. She ran straight past him, moving as fast as she could go, terrified one of those black arrows would embed itself in her back, no matter what he had said.

She tried to lose him again by darting through the intersection even as the cars were still moving. Tires screamed and rubber smoked but all of that faded to the background when a sharp, lancing pain hit her in the calf. She cried out as she went tumbling over the asphalt and she finally clattered to a halt in the gutter near the edge of one of the corners. She twisted around and saw with horror that an arrow was lodged straight through her leg, and she was faintly aware that there was blood dripping from a wound near her temple. Wet asphalt grit was grinding into her bloody palms even as she wrenched around and tried to remove the arrow, but it wouldn't come free. The pain was so intense that she'd barely found the stomach to try and work through it when he was there, staring over her like Judgment Day itself.

"Don't do this again, Natasha." He muttered as if she were five years old and gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. That was when she saw there was blood leaking from a wound in his collarbone, spilling down his chest. One of her bullets must have hit him after all.

He restrained her easily enough, slapping a pair of metal cuffs on her wrists behind her back. She tried to fight but in truth she was exhausted and her leg was in so much pain, every twitch made another jarring jolt go through her.

He helped her to her feet and supported most of her weight as they quickly ducked into a side street, avoiding the sirens and flashing lights of incoming police. Once safely in the darkness he slid her to the ground and extended her leg as far as it would go with the shaft still buried in it. He examined the wound briefly before reaching into one the pockets on his vest and pulling out a piece of rolled up cloth.

"Bite down on this." He said, offering it to her. She understood without further explanation. She took it between her teeth and she didn't even have time to think about it; he snapped the tip of the arrow off, jarring the wound again causing her teeth to grind down and a muffled groan of pain to escape her.

He didn't let her breathe, instead pulling the arrow clean her through leg in one swift go. She knocked her head against the cold stone of the building against her back as fire blazed through her whole body. Her leg flamed, her jaw ached, her whole body felt as though she'd been thrown down multiple flight of stairs. The wound at her temple was still leaking blood, warm and wet dripping down the side of her face.

"There, it's over. You're all right." His voice was gentle now and a thin flare of surprise went through her. He pulled out another piece of cloth and tied it around her leg, bandaging it and also lending some support to the weakened muscle.

"Come on, you can stand." He coaxed. He helped her to her feet and still took most of her weight. But after she stumbled and nearly banged her head again he eased the pace and looked into her eyes.

"If I put your hands in front, do you promise not to try and kill me again?" he asked. There was a little bit of humor in his voice but she couldn't fully appreciate it. Not with the pain lancing through every inch of her.

She nodded weakly and he did as he said and moved her hands in front of her. He knew he was taking a risk by doing so, but he reasoned with as weakened as she was, she wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. And surprisingly, she didn't resist him at all.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he took her down a darkened side street, still avoiding all of the flashing lights and sirens. They had about five minutes to get out of the area before there was a sealed perimeter.

"I have an extraction point ready. You'll come with me back to headquarters and we'll get you fixed up." He said. "Hey, Natasha, look at me." His voice was insistent as her head rolled weakly on her shoulders as she fought to stay conscious. He stopped and took her jaw in his strong, calloused fingers, forcing her eyes to lock with his. "We gotta pick up the pace. Soon as we're at the extraction point you can turn the lights out, but right now, we have to move, you understand?"

She nodded and sucked in a deep breath and tested more weight on her leg. There was a flame curling around the limb, burning and searing the flesh with every motion but it didn't matter. She sank back down into her training and ignored it and in this autopilot state she followed him, evading the perimeter and approaching a black SUV with windows tinted so dark no one would ever be able to see inside. He helped her in the back and she immediately stretched out, easing the pressure on her damaged leg.

He took the driver's seat and even through the bumpy, uneven streets of Budapest she was out like a light within seconds.

When she woke it was like a bad dream. She was stretched out in a small, glass cell, burning white lights searing down on her. Her head throbbed but the rest of her actually felt more or less ok. Her leg twitched when she tried to move it, but as she carefully pulled it up and then set her foot on the floor, she found she could work through it.

"Your up sooner than I thought."

She twisted her head and saw him sitting in the corner of the cell, his bow draped across his lap, unfolded, but his arms were relaxed. His blue eyes were curious now, inquisitive, rather than cold and unforgiving.

"Where am I?" she asked. She wished someone would turn down the intensity of the lights, her headache was increasing with every passing second.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." He answered calmly. "Otherwise known as S.H.I.E.L.D."

She looked at her leg and noted that it had been stitched and properly bandaged. Her fingers fluttered to the wound on her temple and noted that there was also stitching there as well.

"How long have I been out?" she asked.

"A few hours." He shifted in his chair and a deeper seriousness came over him. She was going to say something but he spoke first and she decided to listen to him.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. sent me to kill you. I had a shot three days ago and I know you saw me because you ran like a bat out of hell. I could have got you then but I decided not to. Maybe it was my fault for not explaining why I was in your room. Maybe you would have come quieter if I had."

She put on her best tough girl bravado. "I doubt that."

"I didn't take the shot because I had to wonder, how long before S.H.I.E.L.D became nervous of what I could do and sent someone after me? That's the only reason they sent me after you. They were just afraid of what you could do, what might happen if an enemy of us hired you."

She nodded but her eyes were less certain. "I don't understand. We're soldiers. We have our orders, we follow them. Why didn't you shoot?"

He sighed. "Because its wrong to kill someone out of fear. Especially when they don't have a chance to defend themselves."

She looked at him and that same thread of anger and pain ran through her. Why was he doing this to her? Talking to her like a real person, like he understood…like he cared. Nobody cared, she _knew _that. They had beat that into her as a child. She was disposable, and the only reason she hadn't been thrown away was because of what she could do.

"So did you bring me here just for S.H.I.E.L.D. to kill me?" she asked coldly. She turned her head away, damned if he would see the pain welling up in her eyes.

He shook his head. "They won't kill you, Natasha."

"How do you know that?" She felt the strong urge to slap him across the face for such a bold, naïve statement. Handlers could do whatever the hell they wanted. If they had sent Barton to kill her and he had brought her here, they would finish his job. She wasn't a child with fantasy hopes and dreams. She knew better.

"Well apparently I'm a valuable asset; enough to keep them from killing you, on pain of me falling off the face of the earth. And unlike Banner I actually know how to disappear."

"What?" she questioned, tilting her head in confusion.

He shook his head. "Nothing, don't worry about it. Point is, they're not going to hurt you. Now, they might put you in prison for a very long time, but I think if you played your cards right you could negotiate a deal with Fury. Spin your web with him and I'm sure your name could be taken off the hit list and put on the payroll."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So you know my codename too then." She muttered. She couldn't bring herself to say what she was really thinking which was along the lines of _I may not kill you myself but I won't flinch one bit if someone else does. _

He shrugged. "There's a lot we know about you, Natasha Romanov. Give this place a chance. Maybe it'll do you good."

He got up to walk away but before he'd made it to the door of the cell she was flying at him. She grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed his head hard against the glass. It didn't crack but he grunted with pain and attempted to disable her but she had the jump on him.

"You think you're better than me, Barton? You think you're superior just because you work for the Americans? Because they've brainwashed you into thinking the end justifies the means? I can assure you, I know better!"

By now someone had sounded the alarm and fifty guards, all armed with automatic weapons were trained on her. She had already let Barton go. Once Barton was outside the cell he ordered the men to stand down. They lowered the weapons but did not leave the room.

"If I didn't know better you'd be dead."

He turned on his heel and walked away. Where he went she later would find out was Fury's office to beg for her life. It had taken over a month of negotiating and continual imprisonment before she finally agreed to sign herself over to S.H.I.E.L.D. And during all of those negotiations and hours she spent in her cell, Barton was there, keeping watch just like the hawk he had been codenamed after. At first it had been incredibly uneasy between them, her resentment and anger and his festering idea that maybe she could not be tamed, and the possible guilt that maybe he had led her to her death anyway, because if she would not agree to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. he knew eventually the Council would overrule Fury and have her killed. He never breathed a single word of it to her though, and even though she hit that question on the head, he had lied and said such a decision couldn't be made. He didn't know if she'd believed him or not.

After she'd signed herself over to S.H.I.E.L.D he'd become her handler and her pseudo guard as it were. They had a certain connection even if sometimes they looked as though they were trying to stop from killing each other. Her out of anger and injustice, him out of sheer frustration. She had to have everything her way, on her terms, and if she wasn't ok with it, it wasn't going to happen. It was maddeningly frustrating because although they did the same job, they worked two very different ways. She liked to be up close and very personal with her kills, he preferred to be removed and distant.

But as the months went by, it was easier. Nobody in S.H.I.E.L.D really trusted her even though she was genuinely trying to earn their respect. At first she rolled it easily off her shoulders and it didn't matter. But every time they were given a new target he could see the tightening around her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes. They went their separate ways to gather their gear and like always he went to fetch her but this time caught her talking to herself.

"What the hell is the point? It's not any different, Natasha. Just deal with it."

"What's not any different?"

He stood in her doorway, leaning up against the frame, watching her. She had a pistol in her hand and he could tell just by the way she handled it that it was loaded. He'd be lying if he said that it didn't make him nervous, but he wouldn't let it show.

"Doesn't matter. You ready?" she questioned.

He stepped forward and shut the door behind him. "It does matter." He said quietly. "What is it?"

She looked at him in much the same way she had all those months ago in the hotel room when they had been standing off. That same look of pain and anger and the thinnest outline of fear. But it was the pain that was the deepest and his heart hurt to see it.

"Natasha." He murmured. He wanted to step forward and try and do something to understand what she was going through, but he didn't want her to feel threatened or boxed in either. "If you don't want to tell me, it's ok. But you can if you want."

She nodded. "Let's go, we have work to do."

It would be many months before she would tell him. They had just finished a job in Budapest and were in their hotel room (it was just cheaper to share and they had worked together for so long now they didn't care) packing up. Their flight left in the morning and all they had to do was lay low until then. So they ordered room service and sat on the bed eating in quiet, but not uncomfortable silence. When the food was gone they cleared the dishes away but returned to the bed and popped the cork on a bottle of wine. She'd had two glasses before she spoke up.

"I used to hate you, you know." She said offhandedly.

He glanced up from his own glass of wine. "Oh?"

"Well, I didn't hate you exactly. I hated what you could do to me."

His eyebrow quirked. "I don't follow." He replied, taking another sip of wine.

"You reminded me of when I was a child. When I was learning how to be what I am. Because you had all the power and I was afraid."

He made no outward sign of acknowledgement other than to lower his glass. She kept talking, almost as if it wasn't really to him, just to the empty air.

"You tore me to pieces. Because ever since I was a child I had to be this…thing…just to survive. And now you were taking it away and forcing me to be something different. I tried to convince myself it wasn't any different. I was doing the same job…but it was different."

"But you walked around like you cared. You told Fury to give me a chance. You defended me when people talked about me behind my back. I wasn't the Black Widow to you. I was real." Now she looked up at him and a solitary tear slipped down her cheek even though her face was still mostly impassive. "You took away everything that I was and I didn't know who to be or what to do from there. The only reason I survived for so long was because I knew exactly what I was, what I could do, and I made sure everybody else knew it too. But after you it was different. And I hated you for that."

"And now?" he asked softly.

She finished the glass of wine and set it aside. "And now I don't know what to think. I'm not the person I was and I don't know what I am now."

He set his own glass aside and crept forward to her on the bed. "I know who you are." He whispered. For the first time he silenced his doubts and let his hand creep forward. She allowed him to cup her cheek and thread his fingers into her silky curls. He was so close he could smell the wine on her breath, her perfume, but also the essence of what was purely her. It reminded him of cold nights in autumn, the spice of cinnamon and ginger coupled with brisk chill.

"How can you know and I don't?" she asked. He could feel her shaking and he very gently leaned his forehead against hers to steady her.

"Let me show you." He breathed, barely above a whisper.

She answered with her eyes. Those beautiful green eyes that had made his heart shiver even from the first time he'd seen her. She blinked once and he very gently brushed away the small tear that escaped.

They both were shaking for different reasons when their lips met. It was a very soft, very chaste kiss. He was testing her, asking for permission, terrified to push her too far but so hungry for more. She was so soft, like the petals of a rose, but she tasted just like wine and spice and he yearned to know more. He was shaking from holding himself back and from being overwhelmed at how amazing this moment was. She was shaking with the feelings rolling through her, fear, pain, a fledgling sense of trust that was trying to take flight but still unsure, and the wonderful way that he made her feel real.

His lips returned for another kiss and she allowed him further access now. More pressure on her lips, truly beginning to get a feel for her, the hand in her hair sliding to the back of her head, the other resting on her waist. He could feel her flinch but she did not pull away. In fact she leaned into him, laying one hand on his chest, slender fingers ghosting against his thudding heart beat.

His tongue sought her mouth now as her lips opened for him. He dared to enter her mouth and taste the delights, the remnants of the wine and something uniquely her, like the spice of her skin. It drove him wild and he was desperate for more. He was aware that neither of them had breathed in a while but it was unimportant. The only thing that mattered was kissing her, was showing her that she was indeed real. She was more real to him than anybody else in his life had ever been. Not that the list was all that long, but even if it had been, he knew better than to think anybody could ever come close to what she made him feel.

She drank him in, feeling him ravage her in a way no one else ever had before. He consumed her as she burned through him. Her brain was spinning wildly, rapidly becoming drunk on him. He was everything she had ever wanted but never allowed herself to have. She knew better than to really have him, but with each passing second he broke down all the doors and destroyed everything she had been trying to build. She loved how much he wanted her, how much he seemed to see something in her that she could never see in herself.

She only became aware that he was now lying on his back and she was straddling his hips when she finally broke away to catch a breath of air. His shirt was riding up, exposing his taught stomach and his eyes were full of wanting and tenderness. She bent down and pulled aside his shirt to kiss his collarbone, nibbling on the tender flesh, including the small scar that had been made when she'd shot at him all those months ago in this very city. He sighed and tipped his head back, his throat completely exposed and she realized in that one moment he would bare everything for her. Her body cried out to trust him, to let everything go and just be with this man, the only man who had ever made her feel so many things at once; pain, fear, anger, betrayal, desire, trust, security, joy, and she even dared to entertain the idea that she loved him.

In her former life she would have kept going. She would have pulled his shirt off and he would have guided his hand to pull the zipper down on her dress and she would have let him make love to her all night long, and maybe even into the morning, missing their flight back to S.H.I.E.L.D. She entertained the wild fantasy of his hands everywhere against her skin, holding her against his hips while he turned her inside out and her fingers clenched, nails digging into his back as she struggled not completely come undone with pleasure.

But she wasn't the person she had been before. She had been unmade, he had unmade her, and now she knew better. She kissed him once more on the lips before pulling back and releasing him, allowing him to sit up.

"I can't." she whispered.

He smiled. "It's ok." He whispered. He cupped her cheek again and leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm not leaving."

She smiled back and blinked her eyes again, another solitary tear rolling down her cheek. He gently wiped it away and kissed the crown of her head, letting her silky curls and her smell wash over him. In that one moment she finally released the fear of being unmade. He had unmade her but she wasn't left to drown. He would help her. He would never let her fall. For the first time since she'd known him she slept soundly, at peace.

And years later, when he was struggling to come to terms with what happened, with what he had done against his will thanks to Loki's spell, she knew exactly what it felt like. Now that the battle was over they could vanish. She would take him somewhere very far away and she would rebuild him as he had rebuilt her. It would take time, he was as resistant and frightened as she had been, but she knew she could remake him.

Because he had taught her how.

_**So what did you think? Review? Please? =) **_


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